The Will of the Gods
by Everknight777
Summary: In a dark future of Hyrule, a hero is given a second chance to save the land...and his own soul.
1. The Words of the Gods

I guess its high time i posted another work (i certainly dont want to be a one-hit wonder). this is a piece m doing for my creative writing class, and i though you guys would enjoy it. I've been meaning to post a zelda fic for a while, so...here you go! (remember i do not own Zelda)

* * *

The Will of the Gods

"So the hero walked into the fading light, and said in a near whisper to the boy: This is courage in a man; to bear unflinchingly what heaven sends."

The children stared in awe as the Storyteller finished his tale. Their parents, who were dozing lightly in the back of the crowd, got up and began gathering their children and belongings.

"If you are able, and my story entertained or enchanted in any way, any show of appreciation would help this poor old man."

Some of the audience shuffled forward and placed a coin or two on the blanket at the Storyteller's feet. The crowd began to thin out as parents walked into the shadows of the buildings with their children close behind.

The old Storyteller gathered his own belongings and snuffed out the lamp he had placed on the ground. He had a good profit tonight. Just enough for a room and a meal at the inn down the street.

He hefted the pack and picked up the lantern, and set off down the street. The smog was acting very peculiar this night. It seemed that a strong wind had picked up and blew it away from the town, just this night, making the moon and stars visible overhead. children were scattered about, staring up at the sky in wonder, catching a rare glimpse of the sky in this age of darkness.

He arrived at the White Raven's Pub soon. The establishment was packed tight with families of refugees and travelers. All public areas were like this nowadays, playing the part of a shelter at night when the dangerous monsters roamed around. They rarely found their way into towns, but the people would not take the chance and put their children at risk.

The Storyteller walked to the bar and paid the innkeeper for a nights stay and a meal. He graciously accepted the money and handed over a key with the number 3 engraved onto it. The Storyteller climbed the stairs and stopped at door number three. He unlocked the door, entered the room, and lay his pack next to the bed. There was a mirror on the opposite end of the room. It had been a long time since the old man had washed. His eyes seemed even dimmer than he remembered, barely a hint of blue remained among the gray. His hair had not yet whitened, but had grown out a few shades lighter blonde. It was matted together with mud and sweat.

Suddenly feeling very pained, he pocketed the key and left the room, before locking it behind him, he decided to bring with him his sword. He went back down to the bar and waited for the keeper to return.

All around him, families were settling down for the night. Lone travelers, couples, and families, all ages were crammed into the tiny tavern. _All these families…_The Storyteller thought. _If only I…_

The door opened once more, and another body was added to the already crowded room. The Storytellers old instincts stirred at the sight of the stranger. He listened carefully to the volume and pace of the stride, the shape of the walk, and was able to deduce that the stranger was one of the woodland realms, and was a woman.

She treaded lightly between the families and took a seat next to the storyteller at the bar. She wore not only a brown cloak with the hood, but a thick cowl covering her nose and mouth. Her eyes were shadowed, but the Storyteller could see that they were bright, lively green.

The innkeeper returned, and greeted the lady first. He asked what she wanted.

"Aldorian whisky, please." She said behind her cowl. She seemed to have a strange accent that the Storyteller could not place.

The innkeeper smiled and brought up the bottle and a glass. "I'll have the same, please." The Storyteller interjected. The keeper retrieved another glass and left to attend to other customers.

"That's quite a drink." The stranger said as the storyteller poured the liquor into the glasses. "Are you sure you can handle it?"

"I've faced much worse than strong drink, good lady." The Storyteller sighed. He tossed his head back and downed the drink like it was water.

"Drink often?" she asked.

"Only after I tell a story…"

Her eyes blinked under the hood of her cloak. "A storyteller?"

"At the moment…Only the heavens could know what I might be tomorrow."

"…It sounds like you've done more than spin stories."

The Storyteller poured another glass and drank it. "No…my dealings have always been my stories…"

She raised an eyebrow. "How so? I don't think I quite follow."

The Storyteller Sighed. "Suffice to say, for all the stories I tell, not a single one was invented."

"So were you an adventurer?"

"I was…so much more. I was a hero of this land, destined to do great things…and terrible things. But, mistakes made long ago proffered me to make my living recollecting my past."

The woman was silent for a moment, and then she pulled down her hood and cowl. She wasn't a classically beautiful woman, but she had strong, earthy features that radiated a beauty of life and vitality. Her eyes, which were shaded before, were now shining a bright green hue, deep and ageless. She pulled her long, brown hair, that seemed to have a moss green undertone when the light shifted around the room.

"But why recollect your past? A man who must drink down his memories every time he tells of his life certainly doesn't have a happy tale to tell." She smiled and touched his arm. "Why not try to redeem your past mistakes?"

It was now The Storyteller's turn to fall silent. It would be easy for a person who heard his tales to extract that information, but a perfect stranger should not know so much about him. Plus, this woman had a strange, knowing look on her face.

"How do you know what my story is?" he asked cautiously.

She smiles again. "Because, hero, I know you. I have watched your travels through the mark I placed on your left hand. I saw all your accomplishments and all your failures that you drown in the alcohol."

It was only now that The Storyteller looked down at his gloved hand, where the woman had placed her own dainty hand. There was a yellow glow splashing underneath the gauntlet, it was so bright it even shone through the leather. It was a symbol, rarely seen in this Dark Age, the crest of the Royal Family, and The Symbol of the Gods: The Sacred Triad.

"Who…are you?" The Storyteller asked with awe.

The Stranger smiled and pressed a finger into a knot on the bar. A single green flower grew from the grains. "Don't you recognize your own guardian Goddess?"

The Storyteller immediately reeled. He scrambled to place a leg on the floor in a bow, but she stopped him. "You bow to no-one, not even me, hero."

The Storyteller sat on the edge of his stool, still staring into the face of the Goddess. "My lady, why do you come to me now?"

She waves a hand, and the rest of their surroundings fade out to darkness. "We have been neglectful, hero. My sisters and I allowed this evil to seep into the heart of our power, and it has corrupted us deeply. With our remaining power, we decided to make a final effort to save our world.

"There was a point in time, long ago, where the corrupting evil was at a point of weakness, a time when it had exposed itself. At that time, you were unable to defeat it. But now, you are older, wiser, and know of the mistakes you made."

The Storyteller bowed his head, but the Goddess smiled once more and lifted his chin. "Hold no blame in your heart, hero. It was our own carelessness that ultimately doomed the land. What I offer you is a chance to redeem yourself, and save the land."

"What would you have me do?"

"With the remaining uncorrupted power of the Goddesses, we will send your conscious mind backwards in time, to the era where your help is most needed. Will you take this task, hero, and take up your sword once more?"

The Storyteller placed a hand on the hilt of his blade and closed his eyes. He dropped to his knee and drew out the blade. It was an old sword, but one of the most powerful relics in existence. It was the legendary Master Sword.

The Goddess took the handle of the blade and pointed it straight toward the ground, which had morphed into an indiscernible shadow. The two figures looked like a splash of paint on a black canvas. The Storyteller knew this place, it held the same feeling now as before. They were in the Sacred Realm, the final resting place of the power of the Gods.

The Goddess channeled energy into the sword, making The Storytellers mark glow bright once more. From the black shadows of the floor, a black stone pedestal rose up. When the energy faded, the Goddess plunged the blade into the Pedestal, and collapsed to her knees.

"It is done, hero. You need only to draw the blade out as you did long ago to return to your previous form."

The Storyteller stepped up to the pedestal and grasped the handle. He turned to the fading body of the Goddess and spoke. "I will not fail."

He drew out the sword. Almost immediately, he felt energy pulling him away from this place. Blue light engulfed him, and The Storyteller faded into the growing light.

When he awoke, The Storyteller felt a healthy breeze touching his skin. He stood, and found his limbs to be surprisingly light. His skin was once again young and smooth, his muscles strong, and his mind was as clear as the purest water.

He lifted the Master Sword, pointing its now gleaming tip at the sky. The old motion came back to his mind, and he spun the sword at his side before slamming it into the sheath on his back.

He was no longer the old storyteller. The Goddesses had given him new strength and clarity. No longer was he unwise, or reckless, or weak. He was now, as before, the Hero of Time.


	2. The Way of the World

Chapter 2

His hands were those of a soldier. And if you know anything about these warriors, you know that they all have a different way about them. This ones hands, however, are exceptionally different. They are large, like leather mitts, Heavily callused from a white-knuckle grip on a sword and shield. They looked large enough to easily grip a cannonball, and strong enough to hold it indefinitely in those thick, sinewy muscles. They had no hair, and many scars on the fingers alone from burns, cuts and scrapes, some of them still raw. I could only imagine what other scars he hid under his gauntlets.

At the moment, those hands were gripped tightly in the hands of another, less seasoned man. His fingers are locked so deep between the mans that they seem connected.

The glow of the candles behind hovering smoke is a firey aura of greatness. The young man with the scarred hands seems to be radiating the glow. His eyes remind me of stones. Dense and unrelenting stones.

"Do you think youre strong, boy?" the man asks, spitting in the younger mans face. "Do you think you can…" He grunts and reaffirms his grip. "…Waltz in here and start spouting all this hero nonsense?!"

The young man takes a slow breath, making the halo of smoke around him pull toward him. "It doesn't matter if you listen…It's the truth, what I say."

His fingers flex, and the leather wrapped around his arms creaks with strain. He twists the mans wrists back and outward, making him cry out in pain. The young man with the stone eyes stands and exhales. A mighty plume of smoke bellows out from within him, clearly illuminated around the light of the candles. The scars of his hands pulse with life. "It's the truth, whether you acknowledge it or not."

* * *

I stare smugly at the blonde-haired young man who just beat Baraxis to a pulp on the floor of the tavern. We get very few visitors from outside the village, and even fewer interesting ones. He's started preaching again.

"…and if we don't act now, all of the kingdom will fall! I need strong warriors who can hold their own a fight and…"

He continues talking, but the people resume their regular evening folly. He made a single fatal mistake when he came in here. Mining towns are close-knit groups. Even if you beat the strongest one, the others will still back what he was saying in the first place. These miners have no interest in becoming heroes. Why would any of them risk their lives to chase some wild dream?

It is intriguing though, this boy knows of many things that an ordinary adventurer shouldn't know. Legends that should be kept secret. He knows what he's doing, only a trained eye can see that.

I beckon the barmaid over and whisper an order to her. She whisks away, returning a moment later with a mug of draught. She brings it over to the blonde-haired teenager. My keen ears pick up their words.

"From the man in the cape, by the fireplace." The barmaid says to the boy. He gives a quick glance in my direction. "Thank you, young miss." He says cheerily, taking the drink.

I push the chair on the opposite side of my table out and beckon the young man. He gathers his belongings and walks over. His gait is a well-seasoned adventurers stride. But hidden in his tight footwork is indication of ability with many forms of weapons. His left arm swings, but the right arm stays stationary across his belly. He is a shield and sword user, without a doubt.

He takes a seat across the table and stares warily at me through his long hair. He has no words for me, so I initiate conversation. "What you say is true." I cross my arms. "The land is in great danger. You, boy, know far too much to be a simple glory-chaser. What motivates your quest?"

He speaks not a word.

I sigh heavily. "Judging from your lack of response, it is a matter meant only for your ears. That is fine. But before we proceed, I must ask for your name."

He sips the draught and breathes evenly before answering. "Link is my name."

"Link, I am Barnet the 'Silent Sword', the only true warrior in this town. I will hear your tale, and if you can impress me, I will lend you my services, and my sword." I say evenly, placing a hand on the sword at my hip.

Link sips the drink again and takes a long breath. "There is a darkness approaching. I know this because I have seen it rise many times before, in my waking nightmares. This darkness will cover all of the land in a cold blanket of evil. I need a man who has faced darkness before to accompany me through the woods and beyond. If I succeed in my quest, any man with me will be rewarded with riches beyond his wildest dream."

I laugh at the proposal. "So you come here, with the intention of taking a warrior from the lands he knows like the back of his hand, and accompany you on a quest you claim will make him rich and renowed all across the land?"

Link seems chagrined. He makes to leave, but I grab his arm and allow a final chuckle. "Such a line may work on thrill seeking hero-wannabes, but I seek only one thing: the fight. Does your grand adventure proffer life-threatening danger, new and challenging enemies, and a chance of no return?"

Link seems unable to articulate a response. "For one such as me, the last great adventure lies beyond this world. If your quest might offer a foe too challenging for the old Silent Sword, I will pledge myself to whatever you might wish."

He smiles and takes his drink, holding it out to toast. "I offer you the great possibility of an enemy you may not overcome!"

I grin and take up my own glass, clinking it against his. "That is something I will drink to!"


End file.
